


Some Boys Are Bigger Than Others

by nu_breed



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nu_breed/pseuds/nu_breed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwaine loves women, but he also loves large men. Percival is, thankfully, extremely large.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Boys Are Bigger Than Others

Gwaine loves women. He loves their smooth thighs, their soft lips. He loves the way his hands map their small waists and curves, how small and delicate they look under his sword-callused fingers. He loves the way they smell too: like spice and flowers, and when he runs his tongue down the graceful arch of a woman's throat, or pushes his face between her thighs, he loves the way she tastes.

Percival is not small or curvy. He is not soft and delicate and he doesn't smell like flowers. But when they kiss, fuelled by mead and want, Gwaine realises just how much he's missed this: a hard muscled body and whiskers abrading his skin and large, rough hands.

They strip carefully. Mail and armour are placed gently on the table in Gwaine's bedchamber, because they were not born into nobility and they know how much work it takes to polish and repair what they are so privileged to wear. They would never take it for granted like some of the other knights do, the ones who throw their armour on the floor knowing that someone else will take care of it. Those men have never known the rough graft of a hard day's work, never known what it's like to have to sleep under the stars because you can't afford a bed for the night.

Gwaine still wakes up every morning wondering if this is nothing but a dream and he'll soon discover that he's still homeless and not Sir Gwaine at all, but a banished peasant. He doesn't ever want to take it for granted just in case it isn't forever.

"You're thinking a lot more than usual," Percival says. In the time that he's been thinking too much about bittersweet things, Percival has managed to get completely naked.

He's gorgeous. So much hard muscle and long, long legs and a cock that Gwaine's mouth is watering for.

"Don't worry, sweetheart." He takes his undershirt off and rids himself of his boots and breeches. "I promise I won't make a habit of it."

It's so different, kissing a man. It isn't soft or slow or gentle, it's hard and dirty and Gwaine feels himself getting harder by the second at just the feel of Percival's mouth on his, of his tongue stroking over Gwaine's. Kissing a man is like fucking, and Gwaine arches into it, grabs onto Percival's arse which is hard and perfect like the rest of him and grinds their hips together.

When Percival's hands grab hold of Gwaine's arse, cupping him under his buttocks, Gwaine shoves his hips back and when he feels one of Percival's fingers dragging slow and whisper-soft down the cleft, he looks up and Percival's just standing there staring at him, a quizzical look on his face.

"Fuck. Yes," Gwaine manages to get out.

Percival runs his thumb around the rim, gentle, too gentle and that isn't at all what Gwaine wants. He wants to be held down, fucked hard and fast. Wants it to hurt in the morning, his whole body aching and bruised and thoroughly sated.  
"I won't break, you know," he whispers into the side of Percival's neck. "I want it as hard as you can give it."

Percival smiles then and it's blinding. Gwaine wants to run his fingers over every dimple and laughline on his face.

"Are you sure you can take it?" Percival asks, scraping his teeth over Gwaine's jawline, and even though he can't see his face, Gwaine can tell he's still smiling, wide and bright.

"Oh," he says, pulling back, "a challenge, is it?" He grins, walking over to his bed and pulling out the vial of oil from under his pillow.

He shrugs his shoulders when Percival raises an eyebrow. "I like to be prepared."

"Do you now?" Percival asks, but it isn't really a question, and when he grabs Gwaine and hauls him in for a kiss, one hand on the back of his neck and one on his hip, Gwaine just melts into it, like honey on fresh warm bread. Percival walks backwards, dragging Gwaine with him.

Percival is good at this— the kissing, the way he moves, and it seems like it comes so naturally to him that he must have done it many times. He knows his way around a man's body, and Gwaine imagines for a moment what he was like in his own village, all the men who must have walked away from a tumble with this huge man, thanking the Gods that he chose to spend his time with them and not all the women who giggled and blushed every time he walked past, hoping that they would be the one to warm his bed.

His hand is rough and hot on Gwaine's cock and Gwaine can't help the sharp intake of breath that he makes when Percival's thumb rubs the head, sliding in precome, can't help the way his head falls back, his teeth catching on his lower lip.

They end up on the wide seat next to the dining table, and Gwaine is slightly awed at how easily Percival manoeuvres him into his lap, his large hands dragging him to where he wants him. Gwaine has always loved this about bedding men, the size of them, the fact that he can let go and not be the one in control for once, but this is even better. Percival is so much bigger than any man Gwaine has ever had, so much stronger, and if he wanted to he could do anything to Gwaine, effortlessly . It makes Gwaine's cock twitch to think about it.

Percival shoves two oil-slicked fingers inside him, and Gwaine thrusts himself forward, fucking himself on them. Percival's eyes are wide and fixed on him and Gwaine can't resist doing it again and again, grinding his hips forward and back, riding Percival's fingers and one hand in his own hair, looking for all the world like one of the sluts that do their business above the Inn.

"Now," he grinds out through gritted teeth, and Percival pulls his fingers out slow and teasing before grabbing Gwaine and just pulling him forward onto his cock.

Percival is huge. So huge that every inch burns as he sinks inside Gwaine. But it's so good: the burn, the ache, it's been a long time since it's felt like that. Years. Percival's hands rest on his hips and Gwaine just lets himself be moved, Percival pulling Gwaine down onto his cock and then up again. There's not enough room to really move, but Gwaine manages to get a hand on himself, hard rough strokes in time with the thrust of Percival's cock inside him. His thighs start to ache, the muscles protesting, and it just adds to the feeling: everything hurts and it's just the way he wants it.

They kiss every time Percival pulls him down: messy, wet kisses, nothing more than tongues tangling and every time they move together, he feels Percival get deeper and deeper, rubbing against that sweet spot inside. It feels like heaven.

He can't last much longer, not being assailed at every angle like this: callused hands moving him up and down on that gorgeous big cock, the feel of Percival's mouth on his neck now, sucking bruises into it and his own cock so hard, so achingly hard that all he manages are a few more rough strokes and he's coming, striping his own chin and chest as well as Percival's, and Gods the sight of him all sweat-slicked and marked with Gwaine's come is almost too much.

Before he's finished coming, Percival stands up, actually stands and holds Gwaine and the fucking strength of him is unbelievable. He pushes Gwaine back onto the floor, pushes his wrists over his head and just ruts, fucks him hard and rough, no restrictions now and his chest slides over Gwaine's, slick with perspiration and Gwaine's release, and when he comes he yells obscenities against Gwaine's neck, words that no knight should ever be heard to utter in public.

Gwaine smirks thinking about how Arthur would react if he walked in right now and saw them. How he'd splutter and rant and Merlin would have to struggle not to laugh as Arthur's face flushed red with anger and embarrassment.

"I think we should have another go, as soon as you're ready," Gwaine says, still grinning. "I really need to see if you taste as good as you feel."

Percival laughs and breathes "harlot" into Gwaine's mouth and they kiss all slow and hot and lazy and Gwaine thinks he could get used to this.


End file.
